Texan Accent
by commondeer
Summary: Your name is Dave Strider. You're nineteen years old and you're slowly losing it. Mute!Dave and John.
1. Chapter 1

Your name is Dave Strider. You're nineteen years old and you're slowly losing it. You've suffered from depression for too long without help. Your best friend is John Egbert. He tries his best to be there for you, but he has other important duties in his life aside from you. This is something you struggle to wrap your head around sometimes. You get lonely pretty easy when Egbert isn't around. You don't have any real friends that you're close to, not even your former best friend Rose Lalonde who you've become distant with over the last few years. As for Jade Harley, well, you were never that close to her to begin with. You didn't let her get close. So in truth, Egbert and Lalonde were your only pals, and you're scared that once Lalonde's out of the picture, Egbert will slowly leave you too.

You aren't sure if you can help it or not. You don't speak, in fact you can't speak, and you aren't down with learning sign language despite other's efforts. You figure why bother learning something few people understand. There's no fucking point. No one gives enough of a damn to try for you, and honestly you don't want them to. But you pretend to know what you're doing, signing random shit you don't even think is actually legit sign language, but it keeps others happy even if they're confused as fuck. When they ask for an explanation you say it's too hard.

Today is the one year anniversary of living with your pal Egbert. You guys aren't doing a whole lot to celebrate, you don't think it's a big deal. Egbert does, though. He's pretty excited and was spitting out ideas left and right over the last few weeks, all of which you declined. You wish you were more open to Egbert's fun ideas, you can't stand to see the sadness in his eyes when you turn him down and reject his ideas. You know what that's like, so why're you putting him through it? You honestly don't know. You're too miserable, too alone, too unmotivated and honestly so close to giving up everything.

Egbert has been there for you the best he can over the last few years, more so since you two started living together obviously. He's had a busy personal life, finishing up high school, ending two year relationship with some chick you never really got to know. You wouldn't admit you were jealous of how close the two had been, even though Egbert was happy, you longed for that sort of happiness. You don't recall the last time you were truly happy. Egbert always tried to make you smile but it always ended in defeat. He's probably seen your smile ten times at the very most over your entire friendship. That upsets him, but he's learned to live with it you guess.

Right now, your dorky friend isn't home. You wonder why this is, he made today sound like such importance and he wasn't even here. It made you a little uncomfortable for a couple of reasons. Was he hanging out with someone better than you? Maybe. Was he planning some shitty surprise? You almost hoped so, just so you could lie to him, act like you truly cared just to make him smile. Though you know that wouldn't end well, he knows you too well. He'd see through it like all that was protecting your lie was a thin glass window. You're left with your thoughts as per usual, unsure of how to handle Egbert not being around right now.

You figure what the hell, he doesn't seem to be coming home anytime soon so it's time to get out the alcohol and chill the fuck out for a change. You get off the couch in a sloppy manner, pushing your miserable ass to the kitchen. You stare out your dark shades, locking your hand around a bottle, not bothering to get a glass or anything. That shit is for dweebs. You don't even bother returning to the comfort and perhaps safety of the couch before you take a swig from the bottle, feeling sort of content as you swallowed the substance.

You don't get drunk too easily, something you've always admired about yourself, though before long you are getting a little tipsy, you're starting to feel a bit lonely. You're feeling lost, slowly angry. You're thinking about Egbert. You can't believe he went to such effort to make this day seem so important, then he wasn't fucking here. You take another swig. You're fucked off and don't want to think right now. You're pissed off with your so called best friend. Fuck him, fuck him and his bullshit, right?

An hour, maybe two later, you're so angry. You're fucking furious to be perfectly honest. Sure you blew off every idea Egbert threw at you but fuck, he could have at least been there. He left early in the morning before you even could say good morning or any of the usual bullshit. Your heart is fucking aching. Your blood boiling. You want to fucking hit something, someone. You're ready to kick that shitty glass coffee table Egbert bought at some dodgy garage sale sometime ago, but you just lean back, staring at the ceiling for a little, feeling sick. Great. You decide fuck it, it's time to sleep or something. Fuck finding the bed though, you just lay down and within say twenty minutes you're out.

It's a fair few hours later when Egbert finally fucking comes home. You're still asleep so unaware of the time, but if you were awake it wouldn't be hard to acknowledge it was early into the next day, it was pitch black outside, well it would be if those tacky looking street lights weren't brightening the entire street. Why were they tacky? It was nearly Christmas time, that should be a good enough description really.

You wake up to the sound of Egbert sneaking into the house, he isn't great at being quiet the fucking dweeb. You sit up slowly from the couch and look at him past your shades, you can't talk of course, so you just stare. You want to fucking scream at him, you aren't quite sober. Not at all really. You roll off the couch and hit the ground, a loud thump from you and a scream from Egbert.

"Shit Dave are you alright?" he yelps and rushes to your side, crouching down and helping you back onto the couch before walking back to the door where the light switch is. Obviously, he turns on the light and sighs heavily, coming back to your side and flicking out his 'Dave Notebook' which he gets you to write in when you don't have your phone to type out shit on. You take it and just throw it across the room, wish you could just scream at your best friend, asking where the fuck he was. He stares at you with those wide blue eyes that suit him so fucking well. You look at him, watching him, expecting some sort of react. But he just sits there staring at you with wide eyes. "I'm sorry Dave, I stayed behind at my course, I had heaps to catch up on since I was away last week... After that I went out with some guys from the course... Sorry I wasn't back sooner man," Egbert says a little flatly, he sounds disappointed and you aren't sure why. Is he disappointed in you or himself? You aren't sure what you hope the answer is.

You just lean back and hang your head, shrugging. You grab a random bit of paper off the coffee table and a pen (how convenient you think before remembering Egbert has this shit everywhere in case of some emergency or something, you aren't sure) and write down that you're angry with him for choosing some losers at his course over you. The logical response would be to shrug it off and be happy for him, but since when were you logical? Of course the answer was simply that you never were and probably never will be.

He just stares at you for a little while longer, it's starting to bug you. What the fuck does he want from you? You turn away and he sighs, "Time to go to bed Dave," and he lifts you. You have no idea how the boy does it, he looks like such a wimpy shit but regardless he, with struggle, carries you back to the bedroom which you two share. He lays you on your bed and you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, not moving. You fall asleep pretty quickly as your thoughts drift from your mind.


	2. Chapter 2

It's about midday and you've just woken up, groggy as hell and not really interested in getting up. Your memory of last night is foggy, you just remember being angry. But then again, when AREN'T you angry? You could be thinking of any night, really. You sit up and lift your glasses, rubbing your eyes hazily before struggling to push yourself out of the bed, only to tip forward, nearly crashing to the ground. Thankfully the wall is next to your bed, so you hit the wall and that's about it. It hurts like fuck as you smack into it head first but regardless you're happy you didn't have to fall and then get back up. Fuck that. You're too tired, you would have just lay there. Though this wall is sort of comfy, you think. You find the motivation to go out to the kitchen where you hear John making lunch for the two of you.

As you approach the kitchen you think back to last night. It is slowly coming back to you like usual, but you hate the waiting. You just want to know what happened, so, you ask John straight up. Or well, you sit down at the counter and write a note to him, slipping it across so he can read it. John just smiles his usual smile, it's a bit more nervous than usual, but not scared or frightened nervous, just... anxious nervous. You question this, it isn't like John to act like this. Did you seriously do something that bad last night?

John takes a moment to think. "Nothing major Dave, don't worry! You were just drunk again, angry with me because I wasn't home... I'm sorry about that," he almost laughed, you were getting increasingly curious towards John's off behavior. Actually, by curious you mean annoyed. You hate not knowing things, it irritates you well until you find out what the hell is going on, and even then you remain pretty pissed off. Honestly you're just always angry at something.

You took back the note and flipped it over, pushing it over to John before folding your arms and resting your head in them. John takes the paper, flips it and looks at it for a couple of seconds, smiling. It's rare that you apologize, so when you do it, you mean it, even if you're still angry over whatever has happened, which you very much are. There is complete silence from John for following half hour while John cooks breakfast. He's making your favorite blue berry pancakes. You lift your head a bit to watch John cook. You're still angry with the boy, you want to scream at him but no. That's not an option, right?

John finishes up and grabs out two white, square plates, serves up their brunch and beams a goofy grin towards you, "Brunch is served!" he pushes a plate towards you and the other beside the previous, slipping around the counters and sitting down next to you, "Eat up, I have a surprise for you," John almost fucking squeals. Of course you don't verbalize it by any means but you think that near squeal was fucking cute. You've never been sure about your sexuality but you do think John is adorable. You definitely aren't in love with him, but you often consider the possibility of being attracted to John. You generally shrug it off, the kid claims to be straight anyway, so he's either telling the truth or is as straight as a rainbow and wont admit it for whatever reason. Maybe he was bullied for it when he was younger, you know a lot about that, but still. John would trust you, right? Then again, you can't help but feel selfish being left with these thoughts, it's not like you are completely honest with him yourself.

It takes about ten minutes for you two to both finish your 'brunch' as John calls it, you push the plate forward and sigh. By now you've calmed down some, you feel like shit but you're less angry. You pull out your phone, open Pesterchum and start to type to John.

"TG: you said you have a surprise

TG: what is it"

John hears his phone go off and looks at you, noticing you have your phone out, "You know you can just show me your phone Dave," he laughs a bit towards you and looks at his phone, "Oh right, of course! Well you know how I've been going to my course?" he starts off, you think about it for a second. Yeah, you know what he's talking about. That dumb course that he wont actually tell you what it's about. It's been bugging you for weeks and weeks. Might today be the day you finally find out? You nod and watch John with interest, "Well it finished last night sort of. We're on break for a month, I figured you and I could go out to dinner and I could tell you all about it," he explained, watching a small smile tug at your lips. Yes, thank fucking God. You hate waiting for this sort of shit, but John constantly refused to tell you anything about the course so eventually you stopped questioning him, there was no way you of all people were gonna resort to begging. No way man, no way.

John and yourself speak for a little while longer, discussing the plans for later on. He tells you while grinning that you smell terrible and hurries you along to the shower to get cleaned up before your date. 'Date,' you think to yourself. Is this a date? You doubt it, it's just John wanting to eat something fancy for a change instead of pizza and the other junk you two pick at, it's just John trying to make up for last night, it's just John being John and the idea that this isn't a date sort of makes your chest ache unbearably. You just rest your back against the shower and let the low pressure, cold water spit against you and the walls. You think you should probably start washing your hair or something, but you just rest there, eyes shut. You're worried about tonight and you don't know why.


	3. Chapter 3

It's been a couple of hours since you showered, you're now dressed the very best you can at such short notice. You're wearing a clean button up shirt with a small rip in the side from rough housing with John, one of John's waistcoats which is a little tight on you but you don't really care, your usual dark skinnies and some black converse instead of your usual red ones. You think you look pretty flash considering you put this shit together real quick just to get it out of the way.

You and John are already at the restaurant he'd picked out, it's pretty flash, you wonder how John can afford this but shrug it off. The kid has a job so you aren't sure why you're so worried. It's his money, he's smart, he knows what he's doing. You stare at the menu, you don't recall ever hearing of any of this stuff. Is it in another language? You look at John and click your fingers to get his attention, lifting the menu and pointing easily the simplest sounding thing on the menu which was some fancy ass sounding pizza. Yeah, real simple. John grins at you in a way that makes your stomach feel weird and your cheeks heat up. That fucking dork. You look down when the waiter comes over, obviously letting John order for you. He orders some pasta shit you can't pronounce. He also orders you both some drinks, apple juice for you and tea for him. 'He's so queer,' you think to yourself before remembering the fact you are the one with butterflies and flushed cheeks, not him, right?

About half an hour into your meals you decide fuck it, you want to drink (what a surprise) and get John to order them both some more exciting beverages. The waiter has to check John's ID card which doesn't surprise you, he doesn't exactly look legal. After his age is confirmed the man wanders off to get you guys your drinks. Thank god.

You pull out your phone and start to type, asking John about the course. John's phone beeps and he quietly picks it up, his eyes wandering across the screen and he just smiles at you, "I'll tell you in a little bit," you start to wonder why this is such a big deal. The hell kind of course was John on? Why was it so secret? You shrug it off for now as your drinks arrive, you're quick to take a hard swig from the bottle you were given. Ah yes. Before long you're feeling a little looser, but like last night, angrier. John notices you starting to get a bit pissy and takes away your drink, making a few jokes about how angry you get sometimes, even though you both know it's serious shit.

"Okay! So I guess you want to know about my course?" he asks jokingly as if you couldn't care less. You just nod and lean forward a bit, elbows resting on the table to keep your head stable in your hands. "Alright, it's not something I really want to talk about... So I'll just show you," he fucking grins again. God he's so cute, and you well, you're so confused, especially as he leans down and reaches into his bag, pulling out... Nothing.

You watch him, he looks nervous, you watch his hands and arms start to move, expression also. You stare at him for a good few seconds, watching him fluidly move around. What the hell is he doing? His expression starts to drop, he looks confused, embarrassed. "I thought you knew sign language?" Your stomach just tightens. You sit there and stare at John through your shades. Fuck. Fucking shit. John has been so busy lately learning some language you pretend to know just to get people to shut up. You aren't sure what hurts more, the fact John went to all this effort for nothing, or...

"Dave?" John interrupts your thoughts, "Answer me," you'd laugh at this if you weren't so hurt. You just sit there, shaking a bit. Keep it cool, Strider. Don't lose it. Not here, not anywhere. Not now, not ever. You grab a piece of paper from your pocket, as well as a pen. Your hands are trembling too much to type properly so you don't use your phone. All you write on the paper is, 'Let's go' before you stand up and start to leave the building in a fast pace.

John is the same as you, he's definitely lost, upset and he's shaking. You both know this wasn't how things were meant to go, it was meant to be a good night out just being bros, and you've fucked that up. No THEY fucked it up. Those piece of shit kids you desperately wished you could just fucking forget.


	4. Chapter 4

"Dave wait!" you hear from a short distance but keep walking. 'Pull it together' you think to yourself, you can't break, you can't fall apart now. God, you can't fall apart _ever_. You've worked so hard to get here, wherever 'here' even is. You take a deep breath and just keep walking. You arrive at John's car, the boy catching up with you finally, his hand touching your back. You hear your name whispered behind you, it's hard to make out through John's panting and shaking. You pull out a piece of paper, firmly hold it on the car and write with jittery hands 'I'll take a cab, just wait for me at home' before passing it to John who is obviously shaken up, scared. You aren't sure why, you guess it's your fault. It usually is.

John figures there is no point fighting with you, you're way too stubborn for that nonsense. He tells you to be safe and not do anything stupid then let's you go on your way, reluctantly but still, he lets you. He fumbles with his keys and gets in the car, you watch him drive off after he gets comfy and all in the car. If you weren't currently so close to falling apart, you'd probably think about how cute it is how long he takes to get comfy sometimes.

You start to stumble a bit down the street, you have no idea how you're going to get a cab. They don't even come by this area from what you last remember. 'Good fucking job' you tell yourself, mentally face palming. Oh well, your house isn't_ too_ far away and maybe a walk will calm you down a bit so you don't lose it when you get home.

_Unlikely but it's nice to be hopeful sometimes._

It take you about an hour to get home, you get verbally abused several times and you wish you could shout back, boy do you have some witty comebacks that sure as well go to waste in your daily life. John is sitting on the couch with the lights on, you can tell he's well hurt by all of this as the lounge is spotless. John cleans when he's upset from what you remember. When he hears you come in, he leaps up and looks at you, he's obviously calmed down some but not as much as you would've hoped. You shut your eyes, you hear him coming close to you. Tap, tap, tap. His footsteps grow louder as he gets closer.

"Dave what the hell was all that? I thought you knew sign language, you've informed me of that before," he begins, your heart just fucking aches, he sounds so hurt, offended... You don't know what to do but let him talk. "I've been going to these courses for ages Dave, just for you," he spits out quickly, he's getting increasingly mad and this scares you. John is never angry. Well, he doesn't show it at least. You're sure he must get pissy sometimes. Or maybe you just don't notice, half the time or more you're just focusing on your own shitty problems.

"I didn't make you do shit so stop acting like I did," you hiss out. These words are ones that come out almost inaudible, they're cracked and your throat starts to burn. When you finally realize what the fuck you did, you just stand there frozen, your eyes wide behind your shades. 'Fuck,' you think. John is staring at you with wide eyes, he's horrified and unable to speak for sometime.

You press your hand to your throat and just fall against the wall, an audible thud as your back hits it. You sink down, coughing out laughs. Your body feels cold and stiff but you manage to lift your arm to rip off your glasses, throwing them away. You feel tears coming down your face, and all you can do is laugh a painful, croaky laugh. Just fucking 'ha ha' over and over again. You look up at John for a bit, just laughing and sobbing before you hang your head, shaking it.

"Dave what is going on?" you hear anxiously from above you, your chest tightens and you start to laugh harder, tears presenting themselves faster. You feel so fucking sick and vulnerable. This is it. This is you falling apart for the first time since you were in primary school. John is getting fearful, you've never cried in front of him, you've never lost it like this. The only person to ever see you truly break is your bro, Bro. He's the reason you're still alive, he got you away from that devil place that was ultimately destroying you, hell, that ultimately DID destroy you for a good part of your life.

John knows you aren't going to answer him right now. His mind is racing with questions about the fact you just fucking _spoke_ and are laughing like a maniac. He leans down in front of you, knees pressing into the floor. "Dave look at me," you hear him utter beneath his breath, you lift your head a bit, "I have no idea what is going on right now and I want answers, but for now I think we both need to sleep," he's always so careful about what he does with you, regardless of the situation. He knows not to push you, tonight wasn't an exception, it was just time. Time for you to break. You couldn't hold back much longer no matter what happened.

You're not a light guy, you've got a bit of muscle but regardless John lifts you once again, carrying you slowly to the bedroom, carefully opening the door and turning the light on. You're still snickering and sobbing away,John's shoulder without realizing. He doesn't pay much attention to that either and helps you into your bed, watching you intently. You open your mouth again to actually speak, "Don't leave me," you manage through laughs and sniffs. John doesn't take long to kick off his shoes and crawl in next to you, he knows right now you need him and although he too is wildly shaken by all of this, he isn't going to leave your side, most certainly not until he gets some answers.

Your face is now pressed against his chest as you sob, your cries so close to screams that even you are aware you're hysterical right now, and certainly not in the comedic, cool way.

You've finally fallen apart and honestly, beneath all of this current misery and pain, you think that maybe, just maybe, this whole thing might be good for you.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's notes: I got a review on the last chapter about how I should write longer chapters, I guess. I'd love to but I'm really terrible at that, it is something I'm trying to work on but I can't promise an overnight change. I've never written a fanfiction or anything with many chapters so this is a first for me and I haven't written anything aside from this story and my other fanfiction "John's Doodles" in about two years so I'm still getting back into the hang of things. Please bare with me for now, I'll try pump out more chapters and keep this shit going to make it more interesting/give you more to read but yeah, sorry the chapters are pretty short.

"Dave," you hear your best friend mutter, a hand on your back, rubbing up and down in the most soothing motion. You don't want to move. Your head and body aches like Hell, but God the feeling of John's fingers dipping across your back just feels so _calming_. Your eyes begin to drift open as your friend repeats your name, you remain silent and just stare at him, not quite aware of everything that happened last night. John offers you a sheepish, drawn back smile, "Morning," he almost laughs, but it's a sad laugh. He looks so exhausted. You lay there watching each other for sometime, before you decide to ask why they were in the same bed and all. You reach over to grab your phone, but it isn't there. You bite your lip and notice you're still wearing your pants, so as per usual you tug out some note paper and start to write. "I know you can speak Dave," John tells you reluctantly as he presses his hand onto yours to stop you from writing, but he didn't need to, his words alone shook you wide awake.

You say nothing. You just stare forward, your eyes growing. There we go again, that ache in your throat. Not the 'I just spoke for the first time in like nine years' ache, since you obviously didn't just speak, but the 'I'm a fucking failure, I'm a horrible person and I'm pathetic' ache. You pull back from John and just close your eyes, you're shaking again. John grabs you lightly to hold you still, "Dave you need to calm down, okay? You need to tell me what all of this is about... I'll go make you a cup of tea then we'll talk, okay?" you don't answer, God no you don't. John slips out of the bed and you resist the urge to pull him back and cry into his chest. You've remembered last night by now, you're so scared, and you wish you hadn't remembered a damn thing, you wish John was still next to you in near silence, you completely oblivious to why and him caressing your back so gently, everything so damn peaceful that for once you felt truly sane.

Your back presses into the warmth of the sheets, you stare up at the ceiling, it has a weird texture to it that you've never been able to find the right word for. It bothers you. Not right now, but generally. This thought passes through your head as you try to distract yourself from the bigger picture. You don't want to go out to the kitchen and see John, you don't want to talk to him, be it literal or on paper. You know you have to though, and that makes it so much worse. The kid is patient sometimes, you hope this is one of those times. You need to think about how to go about this. Gradually you manage to get out of the bed and drag yourself to the bathroom which thankfully is connected to the bathroom so you don't have to risk bumping into John yet.

You lock the door and let out a pained sigh, staring at yourself in the mirror. You haven't even undressed yet but good God you feel naked without those dumb shades John gave you some years ago. You feel exposed and unprotected. You will need to get them before you talk to John about all of this, surely.

Before long you're undressing yourself, fingers nervously moving down your body, clutching the tip of your pants and dragging them down. Your legs are pale and reveal cuts. It's an awkward place to cut sometimes but it's less risky than your arms you think, so less chance of anyone ever seeing. It's not like you ever get laid or anything so that isn't an issue by any means. You press your finger to your skin without care, tracing across the bare scars. You dig your teeth into your lower lip, enjoying the painful sensation from the scars. You know you shouldn't take too long, John is being amazing just waiting like this, it's not fair if you keep him waiting forever, so you finish undressing and hop into the shower, hot water beating down on your back, quickly leaving marks across your skin. You don't care. It almost helps calm you down.

After your shower you linger back into the bedroom and throw on some Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff boxers, a pair of tight white jeans and your usual record graphic shirt. You don't really have anything else aside from some nice suits and some weird costumes you don't actually remember buying but whatever. You lean against the sink and take your time doing your hair, even at times like this that shit is important. To you at least, and that's all you think matters regarding such a topic.

Within about twenty minutes you're finally done prettying yourself up for what you imagine is just going to be you crying and resisting the urge to throw things. You hope that isn't the case, but it's a thought that wouldn't surprise you at all, really.

You tread out to the kitchen, your mind a bit fuzzy. You've calmed down some from the shower, but you're still fucking scared of what's about to happen. Something you've kept to yourself mostly for the last several, several years is about to be revealed, and even though it's simply to one person, you don't know if you can do it. You really don't. John raises his eyes as you come out and he just smiles, "Your tea is cold but you like it like that, right?" you give a short nod and take the small cup, sniffing the scented liquid with a sigh. You pause and place it down, walking to where your shades were. You pick them up and slide them on your face, returning to the kitchen and taking your seat at the counter.

John looks at you like it was any other day, aside from a trace of anxiety you find the boy fighting internally. You breath out, not sure what to say, or if you were even meant to say anything yet. "The weather is nice today," good old John, always trying to lighten the mood with some lame shit like that. It made you feel a bit better. You nod and look out the window, it's pretty sunny, but not blindingly, the clouds are hiding the sun for the most part thank God. Even with your cool shades, the sun can be pretty fucking annoying.

A few minutes of awkward tea-drinking silence passes and you finally speak up, sort of. "I guess you wanna know why I ain't ever spoken until now..." your words are crisp, hearing your own voice, even though completely different than when you were a kid, fucking hurts. You don't want to listen to yourself but you can't get out of this now and John probably wont take note passing at this moment in time. You hang your head, you feel stupid and embarrassed.

"Back in primary school," you have to pause between words, your throat is hurting and you're feeling kinda sick from all of this, "believe it or not, I wasn't the cool kid..." you pause and just look off at John with a slight grin, "Shit man I know it's hard but contain your surprise, Egbert," you can see John isn't smiling, but he doesn't look angry, he knows this is how you deal with problems so that's handy. "I uh..." Great, here come the fucking waterworks. "I got bullied a lot," you stare into the cold tea in your hands. "See I don't know if you know but I was born n' raised in Texas," John nods though you aren't watching, "So I got a shitty accent," you start to laugh again like you had last night. Your fingers tighten on the cup, you're worried you might break it but maybe that'd help, feel the broken bits of the antique cup cut you up or something. That would just be a distraction and you know you can't have that, you need to get this done. "Bro an' I moved from Texas when I was about six, already a fairly fan-fucking-tastic speaker," you grin to yourself, "But I already had an accent too," you add, taking a sip of tea to try and sooth your throat or something. It hurts a lot considering you're doing a whole lot of talking currently, after all these years of silence. "So yeah we moved from Texas and so I started at a new school, the kids weren't exactly friendly, and they didn't have a Texan accent like yours truly," you're laughing harder between coughs and sips of tea. John sets his cup down and wanders around behind you, hand on your back, tracing random patterns. God that calms you the fuck down so well. You tense a bit at the feeling and go quiet (aside from a few stray panicked laughs and sniffs) for a few minutes as John sooths you some. Your throat is hurting way too much to keep talking, you find some scrap paper and start to write.

"I guess they didn't like that, thought I was weird, got bullied, beaten and all that crap for years, Bro didn't know shit... Didn't tell him shit," you start to shake as the pen drifts along the paper forming hard to read scribbles, regretting the fact you kept it from Bro at the time, thinking about it well and truly now, telling him would've saved all these years of silent suffering and lying. "Eventually I decided fuck it, fuck them, fuck anyone and just went silent. Didn't speak to no one. Stopped going to school. Stopped a whole lot of things," you look at John, he's reading over your shoulder trying to figure out what you're writing. He's done this for a long time so it's not too hard for him, for anyone else it'd be something worthy of some nobel prize or some shit.

"It wasn't really until I attempted suicide that Bro noticed. He thought I was just being a rebellious teenager," you bite your lip as tears start to sink into the paper, the ink spreading. "Sorry, I don't want to write anymore" you quickly utter, grabbing the paper forcefully and handing it to John to let him read it better. You sink down and rest your arms and head on the counter, peering up at John as he reads your messy letter that in some parts almost looks like you're writing in some alien code or something, but John manages to figure it all out eventually you notice.

John doesn't say anything, he watches you and places the letter down, sliding his hands around your waist, leaning over and hugging you despite your awkward position against the counter. You sit up and push him off, before wrapping your arms around his chest and pulling him close, face pressed into his shirt, starting to sob all over again. Honestly beneath all of the pain you feel so free and it's so damn good.


End file.
